


Challenge Three: Kink Link

by Trojie



Series: Pornalot 2016 [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Scientists, Dubious Consent, First Time, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Something Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trojie/pseuds/Trojie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Merlin's first summer of fieldwork and this is NOT how he expected it to go.</p>
<p>(Kinks/tropes/words linked: FUCK OR DIE plus FIRST TIME plus PALEONTOLOGIST)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Challenge Three: Kink Link

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really really sorry. Well, no I'm not. But I saw "paleontologist" and I couldn't help myself.

This is not how Merlin envisioned his first summer of fieldwork going. 

He buries his face in his stupid inflatable pillow, prays for the fever to break. Preferably before -

'Merlin? Where are you? _Merlin!_ '

Arthur will quickly figure out that Merlin must be in his tent, and the idea of Arthur squeezing into this tiny, hot space with him is obscene, terrible torture, so Merlin grits his teeth and says, 'In here -' shakily. 

'Get out here this instant,' growls Arthur. He sounds furious. Merlin shivers, forces himself to crawl to the tent door and stick his head out. The sun's so bright. He blinks. 

'You look awful,' says Arthur, blinking right back. He drops to his knees and reaches out. 'Christ, Merlin, when you ran off like that I thought - anyway, fuck, it doesn't matter. What's wrong?'

'Don't know,' says Merlin, pulling away before Arthur can touch. 'I - that thing stung me, and now I'm all -' All hot and bothered, he doesn't say, horny as hell, sweating, feverish, like if he doesn't get fucked four ways from Sunday _right now_ he'll die. But he can't, because they're in the middle of godforsaken bumfuck nowhere, and the only person around is Arthur. '- flu-y,' he finishes, lamely.

'Doesn't look like the flu to me,' says Arthur. This time he grabs for Merlin's shoulder before Merlin can push him away, laying the flat of his other hand on Merlin's forehead. 'You're burning up, but … What the hell stung you?'

'I dunno, Arthur, I'm a palaeontologist, not a bloody beekeeper,' Merlin snaps, and yanks himself backwards before his body can disobey orders and launch him _forwards_. 'Doesn't matter. I probably just need a good night's sleep.'

Arthur looks hurt. He opens his mouth to retort and then shuts it with a snap. 'Yeah, of course,' he says.

'I'm sorry,' says Merlin, because there's still hours of daylight left and he's making Arthur waste it. They've only got a week before the helicopter comes back, and fieldwork is expensive.

'Don't worry about it,' says Arthur. 'Get better, yeah? I'll see you in the morning.'

***

Merlin is not better in the morning. Or the morning after. He can barely make it out of the tent, he aches all over, he _craves_ touch and his own hands aren't doing a fucking thing for him. He's tried to be quiet about it but tents are only canvas and there's no way Arthur hasn't heard the noises he's been making. 

He may die of shame before he dies of whatever's boiling his blood and making him sweat bullets. 

On the third day, it stays dark and muggy, and Merlin's confused til there's a rumble of thunder and then the pitter-patter of rain. The rain breaks the unbearable humidity, cools him down finally. 

Then his tent starts to leak. Water puddles on the groundsheet. His sleeping bag soaks through. And it's blessedly, deliciously cold. He writhes in his sodden bedding, enjoying it, wrapping his hand around the erection he hasn't managed to shake. 

He's starting to shiver when the pole of his tent breaks, dumps fabric and fibreglass on top of him, and okay, he knows that's probably not good but there's something in the feeling of being pinned down. He moans, bucking into his own hand. 

There's a noise and then Arthur's arms grab him. Before he knows what's going on, Arthur's dragged him outside and is bundling him into the other tent. 'For fuck's sake, Merlin,' he says, shoving himself in basically on top of Merlin, and zipping the tent up behind him. 'You can't just -'

He stops. 

'Um,' says Merlin, weakly. His cock is hanging out of his pants and he's sweating again already, and Arthur is literally all over him, this is a one man tent for God's sake. 'I don't know what's wrong,' he says. 'But it hurts,' he whispers. 'Fuck.'

Arthur presses his hand to Merlin's forehead again. 'Fuck,' he echoes. 'Jesus, Merlin, you're the temperature of molten lead. I'm gonna kill bloody Leon, he swore -'

'Swore what?' Merlin asks, trying to ignore the feeling of skin on skin, trying to hold himself in check.

'Swore those rumours weren't true,' Arthur growls. 'Merlin, I'm so sorry.' He slides his hand down to cup Merlin's cheek. 'But you need to let me help you.'

'What?' Merlin's dizzy, desperate, confused. And then Arthur puts a hand on his cock and he nearly jumps out of his skin. 

'Shh,' Arthur says. 'It's just me. Let me take care of you, yeah?'

But a hand on his dick, even one he's daydreamed about for years, isn't gonna satisfy the feeling coursing through Merlin's veins. 'I want,' he says, panting, reaching for Arthur. 'Need. God, Arthur, want you in me, _please_ -'

'Shh,' Arthur says. 'If that's what you want, Merlin.' He slides his hands around Merlin's body, pushing his clothes away. 'Let me make it good for you. Tell me how you like it.'

'Don't know,' says Merlin, rolling onto his belly, arching into Arthur's touch, the spit-slick fingers already finding their way into him. 'Never done it before.'

Arthur makes a noise like he's been punched, then he's kissing Merlin fiercely, his neck, his throat, pulling his head around to kiss his mouth, both of them gasping into it. Merlin feels like he's melting, rutting backwards into the curve of Arthur's body until Arthur snarls and grabs his hips.

He's gentle, though. Merlin's breath sobs out of him with every thrust, his bones go to rubber, then water and he slumps into Arthur's sleeping bag. Arthur reaches around and holds him up. 'Let it go,' he orders.

Three days and no relief, but when Arthur kisses Merlin's ear and says, 'for me, Merlin, c'mon,' that's all Merlin can take. 

***

The new species of _Stegosaurus_ they find after the storm and Merlin's fever both finally break, is the _second_ best outcome of the trip, in Merlin's opinion.


End file.
